


No More Stanky Beans

by GriegPlants



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Coffee, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23538616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GriegPlants/pseuds/GriegPlants
Summary: Margaret receives some bad news and some good coffee.
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt & Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan & Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan & Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 11
Kudos: 23
Collections: Robot Rainbow 2020





	No More Stanky Beans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrushCrush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrushCrush/gifts).



“Come on! For every second you wait around before handing over the right tool, this soldier loses another ounce of blood!”

Hawkeye shared a glance with BJ from across the room as Margaret berated the young nurse for the third time in as many minutes.

 _What’s eating her?_ asked the glance.

 _Search me,_ replied BJ’s non-committal shrug.

Margaret had been her usual, slightly stiff self at breakfast that morning. At some point between then and the current hour, noon, something dreadful had apparently happened to transform her default mood of mild irritability into a level of irascibility that seemed likely to cause as much injury as the war, at least in terms of her nurses’ feelings. She refused to say what was wrong, denying that anything _was_ wrong if anyone dared ask her.

The latest shipment of wounded had been modestly sized, and the medical staff of the MASH 4077 unit were able to hang up their scrubs by early evening. By then, everyone was on edge; the tension in the OR had built and built until it was higher than that of the laces on the sexy corset Klinger was wearing, and that was saying something.

Charles attempted to intercept Margaret as she ripped off her gloves and pelted them viciously into the trash, but she shouldered him aside and stalked out the door without a word. Charles clutched his stomach, where her shoulder had made contact, and looked at his fellow surgeons with an aggrieved expression.

“Did you see that? I did nothing to deserve that – nothing. What could possibly be causing the major to behave like this?”

“I don’t know,” said BJ, sliding out of his coat, “but whatever it is, I hope it’s gone by tomorrow.”

* * *

It was not gone by tomorrow. The surgeons were sitting with Colonel Potter, Klinger, and Radar, failing to enjoy their quiet breakfast, when a cup of coffee sailed through the air over their table, followed closely by a shriek.

“ _A spider!_ In my coffee! As if it wasn’t bad enough already, Private, you can’t even keep the bugs out?”

As Igor stammered apologies, BJ shook his head in consternation.

“What do you think’s going on with her?”

“What makes you think anything’s going on? I feel like tossing my coffee across the mess tent every morning,” said Hawkeye.

“What’s stopping you?” Potter inquired.

“I need it to survive! Caffeine is my lifeblood! Stanky beans they may be, but they still yield the sweet, grainy nectar of consciousness.”

The others nodded in agreement. Without coffee, the MASH unit would be populated entirely by zombies. They each had a full mug, save for Charles, who was miraculously awake despite having only a cup of water beside his plate.

Radar leaned forward across the table. “The major got a letter yesterday from Lieutenant Colonel Penobscott, that’s Mr. Major Houlihan, and she got real upset after opening it. I think maybe he cancelled his visit again.”

“That might be so, Radar,” said Potter, sighing. “It’s a damn shame. The major may be a little ornery from time to time, but she’s a real sharp shooter when the going gets tough. He’s throwing away something that could be really special.”

“Well, that’s no justification for taking it out on us,” said Charles, sipping his water irritably.

* * *

Margaret yelled at eight different people on her way back from the OR that evening. Reaching her tent, she closed the door behind her, locked it, and then sat on her bed with her head in her hands.

She shouldn’t be so upset, really. Donald had his reasons, of course; he’d explained well enough in his letter why he couldn’t make their date in Tokyo. He was a high-ranking officer and his duties took up a lot of his time.

Margaret groaned disconsolately and slumped over on the bed, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders. She threw it off again a second later and removed her worn boots, then lay back down, only to spring back up immediately after as a knock sounded on her door.

Fully prepared to rip the stripes off whatever enlisted moron had come to disturb her, she tore open the door. No one was there.

Was someone _pranking_ her? Today? Hawkeye. It had to be that -

There was a bottle of wine in front of the door. She picked it up. If the label on it was accurate, it was rather _nice_ wine.

Taking it back inside, she uncorked it and sniffed the aroma rising from the bottle. She poured out a few ounces into a mug and took a sip. It wasn’t the bastardized mixture of cheap zinfandel and alleged gin that she’d half-expected, but a very nice, full-bodied red.

Could Donald have sent her this as an apology? But there hadn’t been any note. Much as she loved Donald, subtlety wasn’t his strong suit.

Surely it wasn’t Frank... No. He’d have sent her something much more extravagant and exactly to her tastes and then spoiled it by obliviously mentioning his wife somehow. Besides, she hadn’t heard from Frank since he’d been shipped back stateside except for a few brief and slightly hysterical phone calls, during which he’d lied about how great his new job was and how happy he was about getting to spend so much time with his family and she’d lied about how wonderfully her marriage was going.

Well, it didn’t matter. Since it didn’t look like she’d be having a romantic evening with Donald any time soon, she would damn well have a romantic evening with herself.

* * *

The next morning, Margaret collected her powdered eggs and surplus toast in the mess tent with as much enthusiasm as usual, which was to say, none. She was grabbing a mug to fill with foul coffee when Igor interrupted her.

“Uh, someone left this for you, Major.”

It was a closed canteen which felt warm in her hand as she picked it up. Opening it, she was almost knocked back a pace by the scent of strong, perfectly brewed coffee emanating from the wisps of steam which escaped.

“Who left this for me?” she asked, feeling a smile curve her mouth of its own accord.

“I don’t know, Major. It was there when I got in an hour ago.”

“Well, that’s very nice. Someone must – wait a minute, Private, do you mean to tell me you only started work an hour ago?!”

As Margaret began chastising Igor for his lateness, Hawkeye shook his head and turned back to the others at the table.

“Damn. I almost thought she might be feeling better this morning.”

“Did you leave her the coffee, Hawkeye?” asked BJ.

“No, I wish I’d thought of it! Although if I had any decent coffee, do you think I’d be drinking this sludge?” He gestured with his mug. “I tried talking to her about it yesterday but she didn’t want to hear it.”

“I was talking to Nurse Kellye and she said the major had a whole bottle of real wine last night,” said Radar, between bites of horrible egg. “She said she saw her coming back from the officer’s latrine and she was falling over a little, the major that is was falling over not Nurse Kellye or the latrine.”

“Oho! Maybe Colonel Penobscott is trying to get back into her good graces,” suggested BJ.

Potter shook his head. “Anything from the lieutenant colonel would have to come through the mail, and Radar and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of any gifts.”

“Could the major not simply have purchased her own bottle of wine?” said Charles.

“From where? The only wine around here is from the finest gin vinyards.” Hawkeye threw his arms up. “Since it seems like Margaret’s too GI to appreciate her good fortune, I hope the fates smile upon us next!”

* * *

Perhaps this was so, as there were no more wounded for a couple of days after that. When the trucks rolled in again, everyone headed to the OR feeling slightly more awake than usual thanks to the lull.

To the relief of all present, Margaret appeared to be in excellent spirits. As efficient as ever, she was actually encouraging as well, bolstering her nurses’ energy with praise rather than criticism. She even laughed at a few of BJ’s dreadful puns.

“My goodness, Margaret, whatever has happened to your taste?” inquired Charles.

“Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud, Major,” she replied amiably. “Everyone needs a laugh every once in a while.”

“I am no such thing. I simply see nothing funny about such lowbrow humor.”

“Ah yes, because your brows are a lot higher up than all of ours,” BJ quipped. Charles ignored him with an air of affront. Margaret laughed.

“Really, Major, you’re a regular barrel of laughs this morning,” Hawkeye said as he finished closing his patient.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Well, I suppose... Someone’s still leaving me this wonderful coffee, and I got a new pair of boots yesterday – Donald must have sent them, he knows how much I love a good pair of boots. Just look at how clean they are – mm! The smell of new leather is such a nice thing to wake up to.”

Hawkeye glanced over at her boots. They looked the same as the ones she’d been wearing yesterday, only slightly less worn, but who was he to miss an opportunity?

“I’d love to wake up to the smell of your new boots, Major. Just let me know when to show up at your tent. I’ll bring some khaki roses!”

Even when he’d safely stepped away from the operating table, she only slapped him very lightly.

* * *

“Gentleman, considering how frequently I hear you complain about exhaustion, I would presume you’d want to go to sleep at a reasonable hour!” Charles glared at his fellow surgeons across the cluttered wasteland that was the floor of the Swamp.

Hawkeye rolled his eyes. “Come on, Charles, live a little. It’s barely after sunset!”

“No it is not, it’s four o’clock in the morning, it is almost sun _rise.”_

BJ glanced at his watch. “Oh, so it is. Time flies when you’re having fun, I guess.”

“I assure you, Hunnicutt, I am having nothing of the sort.”

BJ sighed. “Alright, the man has a point. Let’s call it a night, Hawk.”

“Fine, fine. And here I thought you guys were party kids.” Hawkeye switched off the light and groped around until he found a flat spot in which to place his Martini.

It wasn’t long before the only sound in the Swamp was a duet of snoring from the two inebriated surgeons. Charles laid aside the book he’d been reading and rubbed his eyes, sliding under his blanket. He stuck out one arm and carefully slid the tin of coffee beans from under his cot, cracking the lid to peer inside. He’d have to contact his supplier in Boston before the week was out – if Pierce and Hunnicutt persisted in robbing him of sleep, he’d need the caffeine to make it through mornings in the OR, and his stash was running low now he was keeping a friend supplied with fine beans as well.


End file.
